


Oathkeeper (an 8x04 fix-it)

by CourtingDisaster



Series: GOT Season 8 Fix-Its [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 8x04 fix-it, F/M, Fix-it fic, Headcanon, a slightly happier ending, a sword fight, an overdue explanation, and finds out the truth, brienne goes after her man, goddammit we all deserved better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 20:52:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18746890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourtingDisaster/pseuds/CourtingDisaster
Summary: Jaime was shuffling around the small fire when he heard her approach. He jerked upright and had his sword halfway out of its scabbard when he realized it was her.“Go back,” he said. He sounded hoarse, and he glared up at her. She was no doubt the last person he wanted to see, but Brienne ignored his blunt command and dismounted.Oathkeeper sang as she drew it.





	Oathkeeper (an 8x04 fix-it)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, friends...I am also devastated.
> 
> I also want to make it clear that *I do not believe Cersei is actually pregnant*--but we know from 8x02 that JAIME believes she's pregnant, hence (part of) his guilt.
> 
> Love you guys, I know we're all hurting...hopefully we'll get some answers just like Brienne!

Jaime had a head start on her, but not much of one. And Lady Sansa had provisioned her well and given her a spare horse so she would always have a fresh mount. It didn’t matter how hard he spurred his horse, Brienne was going to catch up. And then she was going to force him to tell her what _exactly_ he was planning to do.

She rode out of Winterfell as though there was a fresh army of wights on her tail. It had hurt to strap Oathkeeper to her hip, but the thought of using it to drive him down to his knees before extracting some sort of explanation from him made it a little easier to bear.

There was time to remember on the ride south, though she would have preferred not to. Time to remember the morning after the feast, when she’d opened her eyes and he’d still been in her bed. He’d been watching her sleep with little lines of worry creasing his brows.

“I don’t regret it,” she’d whispered. “No matter what comes next.”

The worry lines had disappeared. “Your first time…it shouldn’t have been me, but I couldn’t stand it anymore. And I _was_ jealous of Tormund.”

“I wanted it to be you.” She’d touched his face then, gently, and he’d leaned over and kissed her forehead, lingering there with a long, grateful sigh that she’d had no regrets.

And she still didn’t have any regrets, although she was going to make damn sure he did.

She found him on her third day on the road. She hadn’t slept much, though she’d switched horses several times. Jaime, with his singular mount, was forced to stop for longer. He looked sallow and unwell—concern sprung up in her reflexively, but she forced it down again—and his eyes had the same flat, dead look they’d had in Winterfell’s inner bailey.

She urged her horse toward his camp while she steeled herself for the coming confrontation.

He was shuffling around the small fire when he heard her approach. He jerked upright and had his sword halfway out of its scabbard when he realized it was her.

“Go back,” he said. He sounded hoarse, and he glared up at her. She was no doubt the last person he wanted to see, but Brienne ignored his blunt command and dismounted.

Oathkeeper sang as she drew it. She moved toward him, taking deliberate steps that kept her just out of range of his sword. She’d always had a longer reach than him, and rage made her feel sharp and dangerous.

He stared at the bare steel with eyes that had widened slightly. Then he shot her an annoyed look.

“You can stop waving that around,” he snapped. “I’m not intimidated and I’m not going back.”

“Then you’re a fool,” she replied, glad her voice was cool and steady in spite of her pounding heart. “You owe me _your life_.”

He flinched—it was minuscule, but she saw it.

“I paid that debt when we fought the wights,” he said, waving in dismissal. “Ride back to Winterfell. You have duties.”

“You haven’t _begun_ to lay your debts to me. But you can start by telling me what you think you’re doing.”

He turned and moved away from her, then he spun back and now there was bare steel in his fist, and Brienne lowered herself into her fighting stance. He looked grim but there was devastation behind the mask: she could see him struggling to hold onto his façade but it was cracking.

“I’m better than you,” she reminded him quietly. “You said it yourself.”

“You have your duties,” Jaime repeated, “and so do I.”

Then he attacked.

His footwork was as good as ever: it was a dance and he’d always known the steps. There was no doubt he’d trained hard, and some of his natural skill remained even when he used his off-hand. But Brienne had training and skill, brute strength, _and_ the ferocity of a woman scorned. The blades met again and again, until sweat poured down both of their faces and their breaths were coming in harsh pants, but Jaime was going to tire before she was.

She pressed the advantage. He didn’t fall for her feint, but then she barreled into him with all her strength and used her blade to drive his down, down until Jaime buckled under her strength, until his knees were in the muck they’d churned up with their fight.

“Yield,” she demanded.

“I _can’t_ ,” he spat back.

Brienne increased the pressure on his sword. This time she roared the word in his face, every inch the snarling lion _he_ used to be. “Yield!”

He hesitated, then nodded. Brienne stepped back and stood over him, but she didn’t sheath her sword until he did. He dragged himself out of the mud and shoved his sword back into its scabbard.

“Now.” She fought to keep her voice cool and detached, forced herself not to see her lover as he stood before her looking even more defeated than he had when she’d ridden up. “Tell me what you’re doing.”

“What does it _look_ like I’m doing?” he snapped, but for all his defiant insolence, he could barely look at her.

“I know what you want me to think you’re doing,” she said. “Tell me why you’re really riding back to King’s Landing.”

“I love her,” he replied.

It hurt more than it should. She’d always known he loved her, but she’d managed to forget for long stretches over the past few weeks. She recoiled a little before she could stop herself, but then she took a closer look.

He still wouldn’t meet her gaze. There was shame in him, shame and loathing, but there was something else too: he was curling in on himself, afraid that she would spot whatever secret he was clutching to his chest. He might not be lying to her straight out, but he wasn’t telling her the whole truth either.

“Mayhaps you do,” she said, struggling for control, “but you’re _in love_ with me.”

Jaime’s head snapped up and he looked at her at last, his eyes blazing into hers. They narrowed slightly as he examined her face. His fist clenched at his side.

 _Don’t deny it,_ a small voice inside of her begged. _Don’t say the words._

He looked away again, but this time he was more furious than defeated. And she could tell she wasn’t the target of that fury.

“You think I can sit in Winterfell, knowing that Daenerys is about to sack the city?”

Brienne fought the urge to grab him, shake him, shove him back down into the mud. “You knew that when she left. You’ve known it for weeks. What changed?”

“She’s _losing.”_

That shocked Brienne into total silence. Jaime glanced at her again. His face was twisted with weary disgust.

“She lost a fleet, lost a dragon, lost most of the Unsullied she had left. Jon Snow hasn’t reached her with the rest of their armies, but I’m not sure that will make a difference at this point. Do you understand yet, Brienne?”

“You’re trying to kill her,” she said as a cold realization flooded through her. “You think Daenerys will lose, and you’re trying to make sure she doesn’t.”

“I don’t care about her claims, but Cersei can’t stay on the throne. She’ll let me in, let me close, and then I’ll kill her.”

Brienne crossed the uneven ground between them and grasped his shoulders, forcing him to face her. “Why didn’t you just _tell_ me this?” she asked.

Jaime stared at her, and then his expression seemed to collapse. Tears welled in his eyes and shame flooded his face, reddening his cheeks and neck.

“Because she’s pregnant,” he whispered. “And it’s mine, and to kill her I have to kill the child inside of her too.”

Brienne let him go and stepped back, the full implication of his words slamming into her and crushing her chest. She had to force herself not to suck in a breath and hold it because her head was already swimming.

“I don’t expect to make it out of the city alive. There’s wildfire under the keep, mayhaps under the whole capitol. I told Daenerys, but that dragon is her only chance at victory now…unless I get to Cersei first. And I didn’t want you to…you can’t follow me there, Brienne.”

Suddenly he was grasping her, giving her a gentle shake to emphasize his words. “You have to ride back to Winterfell. It will be safe there. I tried to…I know there’s no forgiving what I have to do. Killing an unborn child is…” He shivered in disgust. “But it’s the only way, and I couldn’t let you waste yourself on me once I knew what I had to do. I had to try—had to make you hate me first, so I had the strength to go.”

“You don’t have to—you don’t know that Daenerys is going to lose,” Brienne replied, reaching for him in return. In an instant, they were clinging to one another, and there were tears on his face and her cheeks were wet too, and it felt like the world was crumbling around them all over again.

“I can't take that chance. I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “I love you. I’m sorry.”

“I love you too,” Brienne said, her words catching on a sob. “I love you.”

“Please. Please, I have to know you’re safe. Go back to Winterfell, stay with Lady Sansa until it’s all over.”

“Will you come back?” she asked, aching so much she thought she’d shatter right there in his arms.

“If I can, if I get out, I’ll find you.” He pulled back far enough to look into her eyes. “I’ll find you,” he said again, “I _promise.”_

Brienne leaned into him, kissed him hard, kissed him like she’d never see him again. She poured her heart and soul into it, and felt him doing the same. She memorized every sensation: his taste and the feel of his arms, the way he smelled and how safe and beloved it made her feel.

But it couldn’t last forever, and eventually she had to let him go.

“I love you,” they said almost in unison, and he gave her a shadow of his old smirk. Then Brienne mounted her horse and rode away, feeling herself breaking apart with every step. But she had to trust him, had to let him do what he needed to do.

He’d promised to find her, and if there was one thing Brienne knew, it was that Jaime Lannister kept his promises.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry it's a little raw and the prose is pretty bare. It all flooded out of me at once and I just wanted to put it up.
> 
> THANK YOU! <33333


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